Storybook
by DreamThief
Summary: A series of short, one-chapter entries, written with song lyrics, about various RE characters.
1. If This is Life

A/N: Each of these chapters is a separate story, written to the lyrics of a song I found appropriate and fitting.

This story takes place in Resident Evil 3: Nemesis when Jill's in the clock tower waiting for Carlos to return. Review, please!

Disclaimer: The song "Under my Umbrella" belongs to Incubus…and all the stuff related to Resident Evil belongs to Capcom.

**If This is Life…**

_When I close my eyes…_

_I can see for miles…_

_There's comfort in my dark seat…_

_And chaos in the aisles…_

Jill opened her eyes and listened for a moment. Nothing. Then, slowly, a muted moan wafted on the air to meet her ears. Jill rolled over, arms crossed over her aching stomach. It was the T-Virus…or maybe some other virus that Nemesis had. It didn't matter. Carlos had a nearly nonexistent chance of getting her the vaccine for it, anyway.

Her eyes darted around the room, taking everything in. When Carlos carried her in here right after the showdown with Nemesis, she'd been too out of it to really see where he'd taken her. The chapel. Jill smiled weakly. It was weird, how things worked out. It was pretty place, if small.

A large cross of bronze and silver towered over the altar, casting an odd-looking shadow over Jill's chest. Didn't they make a cross over the chests of the dying…? Soft lighting accentuated the subtle colors of the marble floor and the woodwork…and the huge splotch of dried blood splashed across the powder blue rug behind the altar.

Jill shuddered and closed her eyes. Sometimes, it was too much work to try to look at things, let alone understand them.

These eyes are not your eyes 

_And these are not the color that_

_Your arid eyes might be_

_No, I was not around_

_When those eyes of yours decided so_

_I refuse to kneel before the sights you choose to see_

Why hadn't they fought…?

The question plagued her even now. Even in the end, they might have stopped some of this nightmare from happening if they'd only tried to _fight_ Umbrella! They'd brought this whole mess down upon their own unsuspecting heads, but Jill couldn't bring herself to hate them. The story of the Spencer Estate sounded outlandish to the people who'd survived it – how could a down-to-earth town mayor believe it? Or even a chief of police, for that matter? It was all Umbrella's doing, and sometimes thinking about them made Jill so angry she felt that she could take them down single-handedly.

Jill coughed, a pitiful sound in the empty chapel. She was starting to get tired, the weary, in-the-bones sort of tired that dragged you down and down and down…None of this was her fault, though. She couldn't blame this on herself. She'd tried her best to make them see the truth, and if they wanted to see Umbrella as their savior, she wouldn't, _couldn't_, stop them. Jill forced out one last thought as she fell asleep: even if they were wrong.

_When I close my eyes…_

_I remember why I smile…_

_Under my umbrella…_

_I'm an accomplished exile…_

Seconds, minutes, hours, later Jill woke up again. There was a little bit of light filtering in through the tiny glass panes on the wall. It looked like it was getting close to dusk. Carlos…was he alright? He'd been gone for at least two hours now, if not more. Jill's sense of time was questionable, so she decided to give up the thought. But there was nothing else to think about, really. From the corner of her eye, Jill noticed the giant blood splotch again and slammed her eyes shut to block out the sight, a lump rising in her throat.

In her mind, Jill drifted from memory to memory, trying to avoid reality. She smiled as she remembered the STARS barbeque a few weeks before the Spencer Estate. Everybody was there, even the new Bravo Team recruit, Rebecca Chambers. Enrico and Barry brought their kids…and everyone was happy, content. A little warier than usual, maybe, because of the recent animal attacks, but happy nonetheless. But they were all dead, they were dead or they were gone.

Jill was alone now.

She was even, Jill mused, a sort of exile. Before she'd left STARS, she was discredited by the entire city and publicly criticized by Mayor Harris and Chief Irons. Irons told her she was delusional and needed time off – and then he'd taken her off the active duty rolls and made her turn her weapon in. A while later, Jill returned to the RPD to quit STARS and collect all of her belongings in the building. Only she'd forgotten a few of the most important items – her favorite beret, the picture of the STARS teams together, her lockpick…those among others. In fact, when she'd returned to the RPD to get her lockpick (an indispensable, incredibly useful item) Jill decided to take the picture, too.

Jill reached into the pocket of her skirt and fumbled around for a minute – her fingers weren't working the way they were supposed to – and eventually pulled out a much-folded, slightly crumpled picture. Faces smiled out from the picture, and Jill smiled, too. Maybe she was an exile now, but she had friends, and she wouldn't be alone forever.

The one thing that bothered her was the way she'd hidden away in Raccoon as the virus spread. What would've happened if she'd gone out and tried to help those people? Was she any better than them? It was pride, plain and simple, that stopped her from going out there. They'd rejected her theory, humiliated her, and then expected her to go out and save their sorry asses?

Guiltily, Jill curled up in a ball. It was in the past, now, and she couldn't change anything…

_These eyes are not your eyes_

_And these eyes are not the color that_

_Your arid eyes might be_

_No, I was not around_

_When those eyes of yours decided so_

_I refuse to kneel before the sights you choose to see_

Jill woke up retching the next time, thin, watery vomit spilling out from her gaping mouth. It burned Jill's throat, and when she was finally finished, she sat up on the altar, very slowly, and looked around. A water bottle sat right next to the altar, right next to a little plate with a sandwich of some sort. It looked slightly stale, and the sight of it made Jill feel sick again.

She snatched up the water bottle and took a swig to wash out her mouth, and then another big swallow to wet her throat. It was so hot in the chapel…! It wasn't that bad before, but it was almost nauseating now. After the water, Jill decided to take another nap. Sleeping meant she didn't have to think.

_If this is right_

_I'd rather be wrong_

_If this is sight_

_I'd rather be blind_

Neon purple and green lights flashed before Jill's eyes as she looked away from the light bulb. If this was all there was to life, she'd rather be dead. But wait – was that a scratching sound she'd just heard?

She pulled herself painfully out of the well she'd fallen into, her mind, and watched the door for another moment, but nothing else happened. Or…maybe there was. She was too hot, too tired to make sense of anything any more. And so itchy! Her arms, her legs, her back, her feet…everything itched, all at once, and it was driving her crazy.

Jill didn't even think Carlos would come back any more. She'd turn into a zombie in this chapel, and eventually, she'd die. Thinking was too much trouble now. Jill feel back into her mind and let everything go.

_These eyes are not your eyes!_

_And these eyes are not the color that_

_Your arid eyes might be!_

_No, I was not around_

_When those eyes of yours decided so_

_I refuse to kneel before the sights you choose to see!_

Sweat rolled down Jill's brow as she tossed on the hard stone altar. She was burning up, flames were charring her insides, her skin would soon blister and peel off…and then, through the haze of heat-induced pain, Jill felt a freezing arrow shoot through her veins, cooling her boiling blood and soothing her upset stomach. Her skin stopped itching, and she opened her eyes. Carlos was hovering over her, looking worriedly into her eyes.

Jill sat up and looked around, no longer tired. She yawned, and stretched, and looked at Carlos. So he _did_ come back…Jill leaned down to pick up the water bottle – she was so thirsty all of a sudden! – and finished it without a second thought. With slightly shaking fingers, she set the bottle down and stood up. As much as she wanted to stay in the safe, comfortable chapel, Jill knew she had things to do.

She'd sacrificed a lot for Raccoon City, and in the end it came tumbling down. But Umbrella had other labs, other accidents, and, undoubtedly, other towns twisted round their finger. This time, Jill would fight to keep innocents out of the fight. And she wouldn't let her pride get in the way.

_If this is right_

_I'd rather be wrong!_

_If this is sight_

_I'd rather be blind…_


	2. Darker Than Ebony

A/N: Spoilers for Resident Evil 0, and a couple other Resident Evil's. The story takes place in a hotel in Pennsylvania, where Sherry, Leon, Barry, Carlos and Rebecca are all preparing to fly to France in a few days (Chris, Jill and Claire are already in Paris). Rebecca goes down to the store to pick up some necessities when a familiar song starts to play…  
Disclaimer: All things Resident Evil are Capcom's; "Eyes Like Yours (Ojos Asi)" belongs jointly to Shakira, Gloria Estefan, Pablo Flore and Javier Garza. TRL (yes, it's still around, much to my dismay) belongs to MTV Studios. Sierra Mist and Dr. Pepper belong to their respective owners, Hershey's bars belong to Hershey's and Doritos belongs to whoever the hell makes Doritos (and whoever that is, I love you).  
  
**Darker Than Ebon**y  
  
_Oh, you know I have seen  
A sky without sun  
A man with no nation  
Saints, captive in chains  
A song with no name  
For lack of imagination_  
  
Rebecca stood in the chilly hotel store, rifling through the shallow bin brimming with beauty products marked 'CLEARANCE' in bold red print on the tag. The pimple-faced boy behind the counter adjusted the volume knob on the radio and Shakira's voice filled the small room. Becca smiled and mouthed the words to herself as she examined the price tag on a bottle of shampoo. She was old enough to have missed the full brunt of the majority of the pop diva craze, but young enough to still care about the music on TRL.  
The beat to this particular song was catchy, and the cashier found himself watching the nearly imperceptible sway of the customer's hips. Becca dropped the shampoo back into the bin and strolled slowly casually down one of the aisles, stopping at the soap section (Sherry had specifically requested soap and shampoo, as the stuff the hotel provided was simply unusable). The section had the sharp, bitter tang of soap and left a sour taste on Becca's tongue.  
She stood on her tippy-toes and pulled a brightly packaged box of soap from one of the top shelves. She sniffed it tentatively - it smelled like dried flowers - and examined the label. It was written in Spanish, in an elaborate curvy script, and Rebecca had no idea what it said. She took French in high school. But she knew someone who was quite fluent in Spanish…maybe he could translate it for her…  
  
_Ya he…  
And I have seen  
Darker than ebony  
Ya he…  
And now it seems, that I  
Without your eyes could never be_  
  
The thought of Carlos brought a faint blush to her pale cheeks, and she smiled. He was definitely a flirt, but he had the most beautiful eyes. Those eyes, though - they looked just like Billy's. Warm, liquid, soft…beautiful. The blood drained from her cheeks and she shoved the soap back onto the shelf. Where was Billy? How was he doing? After the Spencer Estate, she'd told Captain Wesker that Lieutenant Koen was dead, killed by a zombie on the train. But he was alive. She knew it.  
When she'd first met him, Rebecca thought he was a murderer, but she knew better now. Billy would never kill people like that, in cold blood. A little over a week after the mansion, she'd received a letter from him in the mail. She didn't know how he'd found her address, but she didn't complain. Basically, Billy said he was alright and leaving the country, that he couldn't have made it without her, to keep his dogtags safe for him and to please send not forget him.  
He didn't write 'thank you' anywhere, but that was okay. She'd heard him say it, on that grassy slope, a whisper carried by the wind straight to her ears. Rebecca had cried that night, clutching the tiny metal tags in her hand until the edge bit into her skin and drew blood. He was okay. He'd make it fine. But would she?  
  
_My one desire, all I aspire  
Is in your eyes forever to live  
Traveled all over; the seven oceans  
There is nothing I wouldn't give  
Came from Bahrein, got to Beirut  
Looking for someone comparing to you  
Tearing down windows and doors  
And I could not find eyes like yours_  
  
She still had the tags - at the moment, they were hanging round her neck. She could feel the warm metal caressing her skin beneath the shirt she wore. Rebecca picked up another soapbox, still listening to the song in the background.  
  
_Came from Bahrein, got to Beirut  
Looking for someone comparing to you  
Tearing down windows and doors  
And I could not find eyes like yours_  
  
No, she'd never find eyes exactly like Billy's. Carlos was the closest Rebecca could ever find, but his were just a shade lighter - mocha to Billy's espresso. And there was a different quality to them, too. Carlos had long, thick lashes and a lover's mouth, with smooth olive skin accentuating his features. His eyes spoke of stolen kisses and forbidden trysts. Billy's were candid, usually only half-open - the opposite of Carlos's wide-eyed, lovelorn gazes.  
Billy's face told exactly what he was. A little harsh, strong, honest…  
  
_Oh, I have just seen  
A woman of means  
In rags and begging for pleasure  
Crossed a sea of salt  
Just after I rode  
A ship that's sunk in the desert_  
  
Becca turned and began to search for some appropriate shampoo, preferably lavender scented, when unexpectedly her eyes filled with tears, and the emptiness in her heart struck her like a blow to the stomach. Billy was gone. She'd never see him again.  
Swallowing the lump in her throat, she grabbed a bottle of lavender shampoo, and then one of the matching conditioner and began to walk down the aisle. She'd do anything, _anything_, to have Billy back again. The friendship they'd formed during those brief hours was one to last a lifetime, so strong even Umbrella couldn't break it. There was never anything between them like _that_, whenever he called her 'doll face' or 'sweetheart' it was in jest, but Rebecca was suddenly, unshakably sure that she loved Billy, as a comrade, as the brother she'd never had...as the friend she'd needed in Raccoon. And she missed him.  
  
_Ya he…  
And I have seen  
Darker than ebony  
Ya he…  
And now it seems, that I  
Without your eyes could never be_  
  
She rubbed her nose with the back of her hand and wiped away the wetness on her cheeks before starting for the register again, hoping her eyes weren't too red. Along the way, Rebecca picked up a couple of sodas and some junk food (Sherry would appreciate it, and Becca needed an outlet). Upon reaching the register, she dropped her purchases on the desk: shampoo, conditioner, soap, a Sierra Mist (Becca's personal favorite), a Dr. Pepper, two Hershey's bars with almonds and an extra large bag of Cooler Ranch Doritos.  
The boy - PAUL, his nametag said - scratched at one of his zits before ringing up the purchases.  
"So, you staying here long?"  
"No," Rebecca replied with a weak smile. "We're leaving for France in a couple of days." She handed him a twenty-dollar bill.  
"France? Have fun, I hear it's nice. My sister went there once. Here ya go." Paul placed the items in a thin plastic bag and dropped the change and receipt in her hand.  
"Thanks. Have a nice day." Rebecca began to walk away, holding the bag in her left hand. With her right, she fingered the tags beneath her loose shirt.  
  
_My one desire, all I aspire  
Is in your eyes forever to live  
Traveled all over; the seven oceans  
There is nothing that I wouldn't give  
Come from Bahrein, got to Beirut  
Looking for someone comparing to you  
Tearing down windows and doors  
And I could not find eyes like yours_  
  
Becca would remember Billy forever, and she'd keep looking for him, too. She knew that wherever she went, she'd look at people's faces, their eyes, and try to find him. Maybe someday she would.  
Rebecca left the store and strode past the desk in the lobby, heading for the elevator. As for Carlos, what was so great about him, anyway? Sure, he was kind of cute, but his personality lacked a little. He was such a smart-ass, and he always had to be better than everyone else. His eyes weren't like Billy's, either. More attractive than Billy's…but different. Not as comforting. She definitely wasn't attracted to Carlos. Really, why had she ever liked him?  
_  
Came from Bahrein, got to Beirut  
Looking for someone comparing to you  
Tearing down windows and doors  
And I could not find eyes like yours_  
  
The last strains of the song died away, and Becca turned a corner, nearly running into the man who was walking from the opposite direction. Carlos.  
"Hey, Becca, where you going?" He looked genuinely pleased to see her. Becca looked down at the carpeted floor, trying not to look at his face, telling herself he wasn't that hot, trying to forget why she'd liked him in the first place.  
"To the room, that's all. Had to get Sherry some stuff."  
"Something wrong?" Becca gulped and looked up, right into his eyes, those beautiful eyes made of melting milk chocolate.  
"No...nothing at all." She smiled, and remembered. 


	3. My Tourniquet

A/N: Long time no see, eh? This story's a little deeper than the previous two…it actually takes some thinking to fit the lyrics in with the story. So don't hate me if it doesn't make sense at first. Please leave a review – you've no idea how much I take them to heart – and enjoy the story!

Disclaimer: "Tourniquet" is by Evanescence, and, of course, Resident Evil belongs to Capcom.

Tourniquet 

Claire stepped out of the buzzing street, the bone-chilling cold, the whirling snowflakes and blustery wind, into a cavernous cathedral. It was quiet, and so dark she at first had trouble seeing. There were only four windows, tall and narrow, that cast grey panels of light against the dark walls. As she peered into the smoky gloom, Claire took a hesitant step forward, wincing as her tentative footstep echoed off the ceiling so high above.

This close to Christmas the church probably should've been packed, but for some reason it was vacant. Silent. Dead.

An empty shell where once there was light and joy.

Claire shivered in the hollow darkness and walked down the nave of the church, past deserted pews and scattered hymnals, guiltily pleased that she was alone. She didn't want any company just then – she only wanted time to be alone for a while, away from everything and everyone.

She only needed some time to heal.

_I tried to kill the pain but only brought more _

_I lay dying_

_And I'm pouring crimson regret and betrayal_

_I'm dying, praying, bleeding and screaming_

_Am I too lost to be saved?_

_Am I too lost? _

As she approached the altar, Claire turned left and stepped into a small chapel illuminated by dozens of golden candles. The light was soft and warm and reassuring. It reflected off a gold-backed panel painting of the Virgin Mary holding the baby Jesus in her lap. Mary's eyes looked down upon the dismal figure before her, offering neither condemnation nor salvation.

Something in the painting stirred a hidden feeling in Claire's heart, and with a heart-wrenching cry she fell to her knees. Who was she to stand there, before the Virgin herself? She'd killed and lied and sinned a thousand times over. What right did she have to seek deliverance from anyone? Why was she even wasting her time there?

And the answer came to her in the form of another question: what else did she have to try? There was nowhere else to go for comfort. Perhaps that God of so many people could save her where she herself had failed.

_My God, my tourniquet_

_Return to me salvation_

_My God, my tourniquet_

Return to me salvation 

Claire didn't know how long she kneeled there, doubled over with her hands clutching at the rough, uneven stone floor while the sobs racked her fragile body and broken spirit. When she looked up through tear-filled eyes, one of the candles extinguished, sending a lazy curl of smoke from the blackened wick.

With a sniff, Claire stood and stumbled out of the chapel, back into the apse of the church.

She'd been wrong, so wrong. This church didn't help. It couldn't, and God couldn't help, either. Nothing could, now.

_Do you remember me? _

_Lost for so long..._

_Will you be on the other side_

_Or will you forget me?_

_I'm dying, praying, bleeding, and screaming_

_Am I too lost to be saved?_

_Am I too lost? _

The thought of going back out in the cold was an unpleasant one. And where would she go? Back to the hotel, to sit and stare at Chris's concerned face or to listen to Jill's attempts at comfort? Neither sounded any better than a hopeless meander through the abandoned church.

And besides, there were still open wounds to mend.

In the quiet darkness, she sank to her knees again and hugged her arms against her chest, trying to block out the bad memories that flashed on the back of her eyelids. Tears overflowed and trickled down her pale white cheeks. She'd wanted to be alone, but now that she was it felt so lonely, so cold and friendless…!

With trembling fingers she rubbed her eyes free of tears and leaned her head against the smooth white marble that formed the altar.

The altar smelled strongly of incense, rich and heavy to her delicate nose. It made her sneeze until she slowly got to her feet. Claire stood for a moment, glancing around, feeling as empty and cold inside as the cathedral itself. And then she moved away from the altar at something close to a run.

Her booted feet made clumsy clunking sounds as she fled over the velvet carpet. The silence grew deafening as Claire dashed into an empty stone hallway. She hurt so much inside, hurt from everything that had happened and from all that would inevitably come to pass, that she swore to herself she'd do anything to stop it. Anything to keep from feeling so drained and lifeless.

Claire shuddered once, then twice, and bit her lip to keep from doing so again. Why was it so cold in there? And why was it so empty?

_My God, my tourniquet_

_Return to me salvation_

_My God, my tourniquet_

_Return to me salvation _

Right foot, left foot, turn a little, right foot, left foot, right foot, left foot.…

Claire hurried up the stairs leading to the bell tower, winding round and round and round until she was so dizzy she had to stop and wait a minute for the queasiness to fade. The air was cold, like sipping chilled water, and it hurt to breathe too much too fast.

She reached the top breathless and panting and looked out on the city of Paris. Dusk was fast approaching, painting the white dusting on the bell tower's balustrade apricot and amethyst, crimson and gold. The last few rays of sunlight diffracted through an icicle hanging from the eaves of the bell tower.

Small buildings, sprinkled with snow, sat in the shadow of several taller, sleeker business offices crowned with lacy frost. A fresh snow was falling, whipped this way and that by the howling wind. Claire swallowed and approached the parapet, glancing at the ground far, far below.

This high up, the noise of the city didn't reach her ears. There was only the sound of the wind and the snow, and then the deep toll of the bell in a tower nearby. 

This was heaven – this was peace. Maybe God and all his minions had deserted her, but now she had this memory, of a silent city at sundown and the easy, tranquil feeling of the moment. But she knew it would not last forever. Nothing lasts forever…except the certain eternity of death. And the closure death brought with it.

As the ringing faded away, leaving Claire desolate on the balcony, three questions formed in her discontented mind.

Who would know if she fell?

Who would care?

And would it hurt when she hit the bottom?

_My wounds cry for the grave _

_My soul cries for deliverance_

_Will I be denied?_

_Christ, tourniquet, suicide...._


	4. Breaking Tonight

A/N: This was actually written a week or so ago, but I guess I just didn't get around to posting it then, and I've only now found it hidden away in one of my file folders. I'm also working on another piece, so this story will most probably be updated within a week or two. The story is actually centered on Sherry, but please don't let that give you any notions about how it reads. I'm actually fairly pleased with the way it turned out.

Disclaimer: Resident Evil belongs to Capcom, and "Breaking the Habit" belongs to one Linkin Park.

**Breaking Tonight**

_Memories concern like opening the wound_

_I'm picking me open again_

_You all assume I'm safer in my room_

_Unless I try to start again_

Sherry turned up the volume on her stereo a notch to drown out the sounds coming from the next room.

" – not a _thing_, Leon. She's a person. We can't just dump her somewhere to go chasing after Umbrella!"

"Claire, I'm not saying that. But we can't let Umbrella go because Sherry's hanging around. We could leave her with one of your friends, or mine, for a week or two. Or maybe even Chris."

Irritated, Sherry turned the dial up again, until she could feel the bass humming in her bones. She couldn't hear the voices any more. A chilling breeze swept through the window and tugged playfully at the short, sandy locks of hair near her ears.

Sherry turned her face into the pillow and groped around for the window, slamming it down as hard as she could.

Why did they always think she couldn't do anything? Leon especially, but sometimes Claire was nearly as bad. She wasn't asking to go with them to any of Umbrella's plants, wasn't asking to pack heat or anything. All she really wanted was for them to ask her things. _"Sherry, do you want to stay with my friend Laurel? We're going with Chris to try and track Umbrella,"_ or, _"We've got to go, Sherry, but my parents will look after you. Me 'n Claire will come get you when we're done. Would you like that?"_

But no one ever asked. They stuffed her up in her room and expected her to be quiet – _children should be seen and not heard – and to do what she was told – _obedience is a gift, Sherry_ – and to never be a nuisance. Sherry tried hard, but when the nightmares got bad and she screamed and screamed and thrashed around, and bit her own tongue in her terrified frenzy, it wasn't her fault. And Sherry knew that Claire and Leon had nightmares, too. She didn't think they knew what they were doing with all their kindness, their conciliatory gifts and their sweet, soothing words._

They were ripping her up, from the inside out, very very slowly.

_I don't want to be the one_

_Who battles always choose_

_'Cause inside I realize_

_That I'm the one confused_

The song changed, and after a moment Sherry sat up, turned down the volume a bit, and listened very carefully. There were no more voices. _What are they doing?_ Claire and Leon never left the house without taking her with them, or at least telling her first. And the fights were never this short. Unless…

…unless they wanted to come in the room. Unless they were gathering themselves to tell her something. They wanted her to choose again. Choose between staying with some 'friend' and having someone stay in the house with her, Chris or Jill or Claire or Becca, or maybe even Carlos. Sherry didn't want to choose. Either way, she lost. And either way, she felt like she was letting someone down, disappointing one eager guardian or the other. It confused her, made her sad, and because she was confused she grew angry and lashed out, hurting them even more.

_It's not my fault_, Sherry always told herself, _it's all theirs. Why do they always make me choose when they don't like what I choose? Why not just make me go somewhere? It's almost worse than them never asking me what I want…_

_I don't know what's worth fighting for_

_Or why I have to scream_

_I don't know why I instigate_

_And say what I don't mean_

_I don't know how I got this way_

_I know it's not alright_

_So I'm breaking the habit, breaking the habit_

_Tonight_

She stared out the window dismally, waiting for the polite knock, the sweet inquiring voice to come. It was selfish, Sherry knew, but why couldn't they let Umbrella go? They were always running all over, trying to bring Umbrella to the ground, and it never worked. Why did they still think they could do it?

Sherry knew they couldn't. She'd lost faith long ago, probably after the first time Claire and Leon left her with Laurel, and they'd returned, scratched, bruised, bloody, jaded. Umbrella wasn't worth the time, and their single-mindedness about 'making them pay' angered Sherry, made her want to scream and shout and kick and fight them. How incredibly _stupid_ it was, to think they'd ever change anything.

And, like with the confused anger, this anger made her say things too. Made her snap and snarl and reject their love, made her push them away even more.

_Cultured my cure I tightly lock the door_

_I try to catch my breath again_

_I hurt much more than anytime before_

_I have no options left again_

The music was on so loud that Sherry didn't even hear Claire and Leon enter, and she didn't hear them walk over the creaky wooden floorboards or stand over her, looking at the frail blonde pixie sprawled across the crumpled bed sheets.

"Sherry?" Claire looked worried; she had a faint line between her brows. Leon was frowning over Claire's shoulder. These were the things Sherry noticed when she rolled over to look at them.

"Didn't even knock this time, huh? How polite." The words were caustic, bitter. Claire's line deepened, and Sherry felt a pang of guilt.

"We tried, but you didn't answer. We were scared."

"For me? Very sweet of you. I don't need your concern. You can go away now." Sherry rolled over onto her stomach again and stared out the window, not seeing the trees rustling or the birds flying by, or even the flower beds – the flowers she'd helped Claire plant – stir in the breeze, dead petals falling from the withered stems.

"Don't talk to her like that, young lady," Leon said, nudging Claire aside. He put his hand on Sherry's shoulder to turn her over when the girl sat up suddenly, knocking his hand aside.

"Whatever, Leon. Hey, Claire – decide where I'm going yet? Laurel's? Or is Rebecca coming over again? Or maybe this time you'll just ship me off for good, to get me off your back."

_I don't want to be the one_

_Who battles always choose_

_'Cause inside I realize_

_That I'm the one confused_

Sherry saw the tears forming in Claire's eyes and desperately wanted to give her a hug and burst into tears herself, but she bit the feelings back and instead glared at her.

"Well?" One huge tear spilled out of her eye and fell down Claire's cheek.

"Sherry…it's not like that. You know it isn't…" She turned and left the room, her choked sobs still audible. Leon turned and stared Sherry down, his eyes like twin sapphires. He grabbed her arms and leaned in close.

"_Why!? Stop acting like you're three, Sherry! Claire __loves you, she really __loves you and this is what you do? This is it? Do you even _know_ what she's like when she's away from you?"_

He dropped her wrists and stomped out, slamming the door as he went. Sherry stared at the plain brown door until it blurred into a shapeless blob of color, distorted by tears and darkness.

Why _did she act like that? What made her do it? Why…?_

_I don't know what's worth fighting for_

_Or why I have to scream_

_I don't know why I instigate_

_And say what I don't mean_

_I don't know how I got this way_

_I know it's not alright_

_So I'm breaking the habit, breaking the habit_

_Tonight_

Sherry waited until well after midnight to creep downstairs. Patches of moonlight on the blue tile floor gave her light enough to find the freezer, and the box of butter cake on the corner of the counter, right where it always was. From the cupboard she took a bowl, a plate, a spoon and a knife and she sat down at the table for a midnight supper. Three thin, delicate slices of cake, three careful scoops of smooth vanilla ice cream.

A little piece of cake, a little bit of ice cream, taken together, was bliss. She ate it all, cleaned up after herself and crept back upstairs, staying away from the moonlit spots. At the top of the stairs, on one side, was the hallway leading to the den, and Sherry's bed and bath. The other hall went to the guest room, and then Claire and Leon's room.

She slowly snuck down the hall to their room, noting that their lights were off. The door was open, and she slipped inside like a wraith. Sherry walked around the bed, glancing down at Leon's mussed hair and bare chest, and over to Claire's side. She looked…exactly like she did when she was awake, except maybe a little less tired.

Sherry took a deep breath and stepped closer to the bed. Time to make things right.

_I'll paint it on the walls_

_'Cause I'm the one that falls_

_I'll never fight again_

_And this is how it ends_

"Claire?" Sherry shook her best friend gently, waiting for a response. "Claire?" The brunette blinked a few times, her blue eyes vivid even in the darkness. Her eyes widened when she saw Sherry.

"Sherry? Are you okay? What are you…" Sherry tugged gently on Claire's arm and pointed at the door. Claire got the idea, and carefully slid out of the covers, revealing plaid shorts and an oversized black T-shirt. Together the left the room, slunk down the stairs and disappeared into the backyard.

"Sherry – what's this all about?"

"I'm sorry, Claire." Sherry looked up at the moon. "I've been awful to you lately." Claire didn't say a word. No rebuttal – it would have been a lie.

"Why is that, Sherry? What's wrong? I wish you'd tell me."

It all came out in a flood, a gush of words and emotions together. When it was over, Claire held Sherry tightly.

"Oh, Sherry…" They were both silent for a while. "If you only knew how much we love you…"

Sherry nodded and curled up again, safe in Claire's arms.

_I don't know what's worth fighting for_

_Or why I have to scream_

_But now I have some clarity_

_To show you what I mean_

_I don't know how I got this way_

_I'll never be alright_

_So I'm breaking the habit, breaking the habit_

_I'm breaking the habit_

_Tonight_

Claire was in bed, sleeping again, and Sherry lay in her bed, staring out the window again. She wished she could forget all the bad things, forget Raccoon and her parents and just live with Claire and Leon, pretend that they were her parents and always had been.

But it couldn't be so. Some things can't be changed, only made better, and easier to bear. Sherry saw the treetops stirring, saw a bird fly by, and in the moonlight's glare she saw that the flowers she'd helped Claire plant were dying. She'd have to tell Claire, so they could plant new ones next week, while Claire and Leon and Sherry all took a break from Umbrella.


End file.
